


1.6% More Justice

by orgasmichallucination (ayellowbirds)



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayellowbirds/pseuds/orgasmichallucination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://ayellowbirds.tumblr.com/post/104175520048/what-is-a-1-6-story">A 1.6% Story</a>, set in a vague and imprecise version of Gotham that borrows from numerous continuities (mostly pre-Nu52 New Earth). The costumed crimefighters and criminals of DC's darkest city are faced with a sudden change in their lifestyles, when all of humanity have their violent urges replaced with sexual ones. Now that they're only able to solve problems the way bonobos do, who will triumph?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1.6% More Justice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dofensphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dofensphinx/gifts).



> Yes, I know this is a weird idea. I hope some folks enjoy weird ideas. Be advised: this chapter contains explicit sexual descriptions of people of several genders, and Batman getting fucked in the ass.

Batman shifted imperceptibly on his perch atop the building, enough to relieve the discomfort of sitting in one place for too long, but not enough to make him visible to anyone who might be looking up. In spite of all the time that he had been doing this, Gothamites actually very rarely looked up without reason. Especially now, with the distraction of the change.

It had been two months since the change—fifty-eight days, to be exact. He couldn’t be more certain of when it happened than that, though he had some theories. The problem was that the change was subtle. There was no flash of light, no worldwide epiphany. People just started to notice it during throughout the day, in the middle of August.

Put as simply as his detail-oriented brain would allow, the whole of humanity had lost most of their capacity for violence. Acts of violence—combat, fighting, war, even _threatening_ violent acts against other humans—had become literally unthinkable. The change had even affected nonhuman or near-human sapient life on Earth, such as the Atlanteans; the Green Lanterns had yet to report back on whether it was spread to other planets. There had been evidence so far that this did not mean a lack of ability for self-defense; a few incidents of people attacked by wild animals and a single case of a mindless rampaging monster had demonstrated that there was still plenty of ability to think about and act on the need for violence in strictly necessary situations. 

Numerous major industries tied to the military and defense were grinding to a halt, struggling to find their place as their original products were suddenly no longer desired, and there was some concern about the global economy. Experts were gathering to debate whether or not (as well as how) to repurpose even existing armaments. However, all of humanity agreed that planet-wide peace was a good thing.

Batman was not entirely convinced. The question remained why it had happened, and who was to gain; he was willing to consider the off chance of good intentions, but the old saw about the road to hell meant even the best intentions could be a problem. There were other small, notable changes that he hoped provided some evidence of who or what was responsible, but not enough to give him a lead. People had become distinctly more inclined to defer to women as leaders and authority figures; Diana was, in effect, the sole leader of the Justice League, alongside Power Girl. He himself had noticed a greater desire for Barbara’s approval in her capacity as Oracle, and was finding it hard to admit that it was a mistake. He had underestimated her capability in the past, that much had become evident from mere statistics alone.

The most significant bit of evidence, however—although, again, it provided no leads at this time—was what had _replaced_ violence on Earth: sexuality. Where people had once been inclined to respond with violence to tension, aggression, or in quite a few cases simply not having their way, they now responded with overtly sexual acts. Ten minutes ago, he had witnessed a dispute between two teamsters turn into aggressive humping and frottage, the men “fencing” with their erect penises until one ejaculated, and the other crowed victory. Sporting events were temporarily suspended while it was debated as to whether it would be appropriate to broadcast them when the players often started blatantly engaging in mutual masturbation instead of getting into brawls over disagreements, but the general consensus was building that it was perfectly fine.

It wasn’t just that sex had replaced violence as a solution to problems: it had taken the place of violence in terms of how acceptable it was in public. Two months ago, it had been normal for people to see extreme acts of violence everywhere in media. Broadcast television had frequently related fictional accounts of acts that some of the worst villains in Gotham would consider unthinkable, even back then. People had simply accepted violence as a fact of life. Now, they were finding they reacted to sex the same way. 

True, there were concerns over how the lack of military development was going to affect the economy—but sex-related businesses were booming. Former porn stars were finding themselves being courted by major television networks and movie producers, and sex toys and lingerie were seeing record sales as people started to openly carry them. It was perhaps very fortunate that another one of the “smaller” changes had been the sudden disappearance of any sign of dozens of different sexually transmitted diseases and parasites, because the increased production of condoms was still not making up for how commonplace unprotected sex with strangers had become.

And of course, people still had wicked desires, even if violence no longer was a factor. Thus, there was still a need for Batman, and he still patrolled. Even now, he was… 

He was losing consciousness? He fell back, taking care not to drop over the side of the building. Dreamless sleep and darkness followed.

\----------------------------------

“Odor, odor, I call this meeting to odor,” cried the Joker, thumping an inflated latex mallet against the table and managing to produce little more than a squeaking sound against the transparent plastic of the surface. Contrary to what one might inspect from the nature of its inhabitants, the room was very brightly illuminated, with notably high visibility. Calculator—seated as far from the Joker as he could manage—had been very specific when he contacted the Broker and the Carpenter about what they needed for a meeting site. Especially for a meeting with so many of his clients.

“You mean _order_ , you lunatic,” grumbled Bone, seated at Calculator’s left-hand side. The middling gangster—real name, Louis Ferryman—shared the Joker’s complexion, but was far more reasonable, and far less likely to become a problem for those beside him. Not that anyone was likely to get hurt, with the way things had been going for the past few months. But Calculator made a mental note that Bone was the type to mouth off to the Joker, which could be a point against him. 

The group of criminals to whom Calculator (known legally as Noah Kuttler) had extended an invitation to meet included both those whose contributions would be genuinely valued, but also those about whom he lacked sufficient information. The meeting, which included some of Gotham’s most competent rogues as well as its most bizarre villains, would be a good setting in which to analyze their behavior, as well as see if his suspicions were correct about who would fail to adapt, and who would succeed.

“Since when have **I** ever wanted order?” replied the Joker, waving the hammer about before bopping himself on the nose. “And I do mean _odor_ , this whole situation **stinks**.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” grumbled Black Mask, leaning heavily on the table, a hand held to his concealed brow. “You have any idea how hard it is to do business—how _frustrating_ it is to not be able to even **try** to hurt someone? It gives me a headache to even try and consider the possibility. Not just to think about it, but to _try_ to think about it."

Black Mask (AKA Roman Sionis) was not one who Calculator would have expected to adapt to the situation well, so his reaction made sense. A lot of Sionis’s reputation was tied up in ruthlessness, and the fact that nobody anywhere in the world seemed to be capable of intentionally injuring anyone else had done a lot to damage that reputation.

“It’s very strange, yes,” mumbled Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter, fussing with the brim of his hat. Calculator had made a point of having the doormen he’d hired ensure that Tetch didn’t bring in any other hats, headbands, or anything else he could have used to control any of the other guests. A lack of violence didn’t mean that mind control wasn’t still a threat, and Tetch didn’t have a reputation for honor amongst thieves. The rogue haberdasher continued, more to himself than those assembled, “all of the pieces are still there, but somehow different. The whole mess has made it impossible to think of… hmm. Injury, violence, harm. But I suppose one **can** think of impossible things. It just takes practice. When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

“What the Hatter means,” explained the young woman that Calculator could so far only identify as the second person to go by the name Crazy Quilt, talking over Tetch as he began to mumble further mangled quotations from Through the Looking Glass, “is that we seem able to imagine violence, but not able to act on it. There’s just enough of a difference between being able to imagine something, and being able to imagine _doing it_ , and then doing it. And it’s not as if it’s blocked off. As best as I can tell, it’s as if that capacity simply didn’t exist.”

She leaned back further in her chair, which did impressive things to the visibility of her bust. Like many costumed criminals had done lately, she’d changed to an altered form of her original costume that was far more revealing and accentuating. Calculator was somewhat thankful that not all of those present had done so. One of the parts of the change had been a greater comfort with seeing others exposed and as sexual beings regardless of gender, but there were still some people whose anatomy he did not want a closer look at.

“I’ve experimented,” Crazy Quilt continued, “tried to bring it out, see if I could make someone violent. No luck there—it’s like trying to build a bridge into empty space. I’ve heard that Arkham is considering releasing some of the former hard cases, as they no longer have any violent impulses.”

“Really?” asked the well-recognized Penguin, whose seat beside Crazy Quilt seemed to be giving him plenty to leer at, though it didn’t distract him much from the issue at hand.

“Well, although some of them are now insatiable satyriasists," she replied, gesturing to some graphs on a paper before her, "it seems that however this change is preventing violence, it has factored in _rape_ as an act of violence. There has been a 100% drop in reports of sexual assault. Fortunately for humanity’s newfound libido, there also seems to be a much-increased tendency towards consent.”

“So,” interjected Riddler, “the question of the day, is how do we move forward? Assuming, that is, that the present situation is not resolved to our satisfaction.”

“Ain’t it obvious?” asked the ‘Great White Shark’, formerly Warren White. “Way I see it, there’s three basic instincts. Food, fighting, and fucking. Well, one of those got replaced with the other. So if we wanna eat….”

“In other words,” Deadshot picked up the thread White dropped, his chair pushed back and his feet on the table, “we do what we always did. But instead of using guns, grenades, and gas, we adapt.”

“I’ve already given that a shot,” said Fay ‘Lady Spellbinder’ Moffit, fairly blatantly admiring the way Deadshot had taken to wearing a costume that hid little of his hirsute, muscular torso. The illusionist had herself previously dressed in a scandalous manner, but now she was clad only in the outer elements of her familiar costume, a pink jacket and belt, with nothing underneath to hide how close she was to fingering herself at the sight of Deadshot’s bare chest and abdomen. “Illusions and phantasms of a sexual nature are just as effective a distraction as anything terrifying. And a bit more fun, too.”

“It’s not as though _all_ of us lack talent in that arena,” observed Philo Zeiss. It was hard to tell with his goggles, but he seemed to be raising an eyebrow in the direction of the end of the table where some of the older and less fit rogues sat. “Stamina, dexterity, reflexes, a good eye for body language and knowledge of anatomy? Everyone here’s fought the Bat enough to prove they have at least that. You just have to use it a new way.”

“Just so!” yelled Maxie Zeus, who apparently had left his inside voice at the door, “am I not renowned throughout history as much for my prowess as much as young Eros or Apollon? More so, for my experience!”

“Young eros is right,” teased the Joker, striking a sultry pose. Was it Calculator’s imagination, or had the clown’s lips gotten fuller lately? There was something that was more appealing about him, even to Kuttler’s almost entirely heterosexual eye, though he was tempted to put it down to the Joker having dressed in a way that flattered his appearance rather than painfully clashing. In fact, most of those assembled seemed to be… _healthier_ than they used to. Perhaps there was something about the change’s effect on hormones. The Joker continued, batting his eyelashes, “or did I hear wrong about Ganymede?”

“Stop feeding his delusions, and focus on the matter at hand,” said Two-Face, shooting a glare at the Joker, and then in the direction of Warren White. It had been a bit of a risk inviting White, Calculator knew. Both Dent and Cobblepot had reasons to despise the Great White Shark, as did others. But Calculator had already reached his own decisions about how to proceed since the change. The point of the meeting was to see how Gotham’s criminals reacted, and the best way to test that was to put them in a stressful situation. 

Already, a few things were becoming apparent—and the scans from the devices concealed in the doorframes, chairs, and his own glasses would provide him with even more data to confirm it. As the discussion continued, Calculator grinned. It all added up exactly as he had predicted was most likely.

With humanity rewired to use sexuality in place of violence, the most violent members of society were revising their methods. Bandoleers and pouches once filled with bullets now bore condoms and other prophylactics. Guns and grenades were replaced with dildos and vibrators; costumes now flattered the figure instead of suggesting strength or fearsomeness (Kuttler made a mental note to find out what Crane was up to, the Scarecrow having not responded to attempts at contact). About the only thing that stayed the same was methods of restraint. After all, a little bit of bondage was something more than a few Gothamites enjoyed, especially now that everything was more out in the open.

Now, all that remained was to sit back and reap the profits of having an early lead on how crime in Gotham would change—and hope he was keeping ahead of that damn Oracle.

\----------------------------------

He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, though judging by certain little clues—appetite, for example—it must have been at least five hours. Even before his vision cleared, the smells around him clued him into his location: a greenhouse. Judging by the itchy nasal sensation and feeling of some fine gritty substance or powder beneath his nose, he had been kept under longer than whatever had initially knocked him out would have worked, by way of some sort of pollen. The restraints around his wrists, ankles, and midsection had a wooden feeling with just enough give to establish them as green and living.

“I’m awake, Ivy,” he growled. There wasn’t anyone else currently on the loose who would capture him this way.

“Oh, good,” she replied from out of sight, “I was beginning to worry that I’d used a little too much. I would hate for you to sleep through all of this, it would completely defeat the purpose.”

Poison Ivy, long ago known as Pamela Isley, strode into view. Her ecoterrorist leanings and mastery of fringe botany aside, Ivy had always been willing to use sensuality and seduction to accomplish her aims. That had left her high on the short list of criminals who Batman was concerned would find the change to be especially beneficial.

As she stepped into view, Batman’s suspicions were confirmed. Poison Ivy had changed to a manner of dress that reflected the newly more permissive society that resulted from the change. Rather than her old form-fitting garments that offered coverage while still showing off her figure, she was now clad in what appeared to be living vines of varying thickness, in a manner not unlike the artistic rope bondage techniques of some fetishists. The end result was that Ivy’s large breasts were lifted without covering her dark green areolae and obviously erect nipples. The flash of red pubic hair drew attention to the fact that her vulva was also left bare, although vines also curled around her upper legs, spiraling downwards from those that supported her ample bosom to end in a way that seemed like they were pointing at her slightly swollen sex, glinting with moisture. Her feet were bare, though her arms were also covered with very fine vines, extending from her shoulders to past her thumbs. 

Even when Ivy stopped, near enough to Batman’s restrained position that he could almost feel her red bush tickling his nose, the vines shifted slightly. So, no mere costume. He would need to be wary of those vines, whether they were moving on their own to curl around whatever they touched—in an exaggerated version of the way ordinary vines climbed—or especially if Poison Ivy had some sort of control over their motion.

“I would have thought you’d be at Calculator’s meeting,” he said, his tone almost conversational, trying to ignore the way opening his mouth drew in the scent of her arousal. He felt the stirrings of an erection, hidden within the concealing layers of his costume.

“You know about that?” she asked, then smiled, and stroked the side of his cowl, tickling the false ears. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I take it a large gathering of some of Gotham’s criminal element is now beneath your notice?”

“I have someone keeping an eye on it,” Batman replied, offering a smirk of his own. Stephanie and Tim would be keeping a close watch, more so than Calculator could have realized.

“Clever boy,” said Ivy, turning slightly enough that Batman was now faced with her thigh instead of her pubic mound. It was a very well-toned thigh. “I don’t mind telling you that I was invited as well.”

“Not your kind of gathering?” 

“Not hardly,” she laughed. “Calculator is trying to test those who are least likely to adapt well to this change. Whereas I hardly need to adapt.”

She turned further, now showing her buttocks. Just as toned and muscular, albeit in a way that deliberately retained a curve that other women might require supportive garments and padding to achieve.

“Humanity was always a violent species, Batman,” she said, hips swaying as she walked over to a nearby tree. He couldn’t place the species; some kind of hybrid she had developed, no doubt. “Now that violence against their own has been taken out of the equation, it will become that much easier for me to ensure that violence against the kingdom of plants is similarly eliminated.” 

Flexing and shifting, Batman tested the limits of his restraints. Unfortunately, the live wood proved too tough and flexible to break. If it had been dead and dry, he could have counted on its brittleness. However, there was enough give to let him press his fingers into the palm of his glove in the right sequence, activating the emergency distress beacon hidden in the lining. Now all he needed to do would be to buy more time.

“I fail to see how this makes things easier for you,” he said, putting just the right amount of arrogance in his tone to goad Poison Ivy into monologuing. “Altered physiology aside, I suspect you’re just as subject to the change as any human.”

“Too true, Batman,” she sighed, reaching up to cup a fruit in her hand. “But unlike brutish animals, green life has always strived to spread by reproduction, rather than aggression. To be fruitful is the way of plants, far more so than animals. Consider how many sperm a human man wastes in a single ejaculation. In contrast, nearly all of a fruit’s seeds are viable, and a single plant may have a great many fruits. And through grafting, a single tree may bear many kinds of fruit.”

She moved into the shade of the tree, standing so that a pair of its fruits covered her chest. “I will end humanity’s destruction of nature by using its new reproductive instincts against it: I will ensure that humanity is bred out.“

Batman cocked his head, miming confusion in order to encourage her to elaborate further. She raised an eyebrow, then plucked a fruit. She cracked it open in her hands, revealing something not unlike a pomegranate, albeit with orange seeds rather than red ones.

“These are the first generation of a new fruit,” she explained, plucking one of the seeds and holding it in the light. “Not yet viable for my purposes, but once complete, they will be able to override much of the genetic code in the sperm and ova of any creature that consumes them, replacing their animal qualities with plant-like ones. I must admit, I needed to go outside of my usual methods to develop them—but once I have perfected this variety, it will only take a mere few generations to out-breed humanity. Simple animal lust will be the soil from which a new species arises, one that is able to appreciate nature, to be at one with it!”

“In other words,” Batman said, “you’ll find some way to get these seeds into meals worldwide, and count on the broad distribution to ensure that enough of the population is affected, that they have an impact on the gene pool.”

“Quite so, Batman. The current craze for pomegranates as an antioxidant will help aid that. A few of these seeds won’t be noticed in a container of ordinary pomegranate seeds. But,” she said, setting the plant down and walking back over to Batman, “I’m only telling you this so that you’ll understand just who is responsible. I’m not the sort to deny credit where it’s due—and I’m also not the sort to deny myself the opportunity to test my skills.”

She gestured sharply with one hand in a curving motion, and Batman suddenly felt the plants restraining him shift. One began to slip down his back, firmly pressing his spine until it reached his tailbone, then slipped between his glutes to press against his ass through the fabric. He grunted in surprise; it felt nicer than he might have imagined, and he welcomed the sensation. All the same, he knew that he couldn’t give himself up entirely. He might have to use sexual acts in place of fighting skill, but that didn’t mean he expected to lose.

“To be honest,” Ivy said, stepping forward until she stood almost straddling Batman’s mask, the dark green color of her inner lips peeking out mere inches from his mouth as she spoke, “I captured you to see if you would still be a threat. Of course you’ve always been very clever…”

The round, phallic tip of the thick, woody vine pressed against his ass more firmly, teasing, and a pair of more slender vines began to pull down the pants of his costume as Ivy continued, bobbing her hips down enough to brush her pubic mound against his face and caress him with the tuft of fiery red hair. 

“...and you **were** an unmatched fighter. But these past two months, I’ve wondered if all that time training your mind and muscles has been at the cost of skills that might be more valuable in this new world.”

The vines yanked down his pants, exposing his ass as well as his erection. His shaft bobbed freely in the air for a moment, then settled, sticking out long and hard even as the larger vine returned to teasing his anus.

“Very nice,” Ivy murmured. “So many of the big ones are _just_ big, but you actually have quite the handsome phallus, Batman. It reminds me of an oak.”

The smaller vines moved down, beginning to tease and caress his cock and balls, encircling the shaft and gently, slowly pumping it.

“My expertise may lie in botany,” Ivy said, moving her hips again, now enough that Batman could easily press his mouth against her vulva and the firm jade-colored clit that was poking out, “but I’ll wager that I’m still more familiar with human reproduction and sexuality than you are.”

Not willing to let the opportunity to defeat her go, Batman wordlessly extended his tongue and began to lick at her clit, producing a pleased sigh from the villainess. He traced in circles around and over, then flicked it lightly with the tip of his tongue, before puckering his lips around it in a light kiss, and sliding his tongue down beneath to spread her lips.

Even as he did this, Ivy continued: directing the vines with motions of her hands, she made the one at Batman’s exposed ass press inward. The pressure of his tight hole seemed to squeeze something out of the vine, perhaps a lubricating sap. It was just enough to allow it to push further in, squeezing more out and allowing even easier entry. 

It wasn’t as though he’d never experienced anything like it; a couple of the women he’d dated or even courted over the years had had an interest in pegging, and Talia seemed to greatly enjoy fingering men. But, it was larger than anything he’d felt before. The sensation of being spread open so wide threatened to weaken him, and he felt his thighs shake slightly. Combined with the stimulation of his cock, it was all he could do to focus on trying to make Poison Ivy orgasm first. He intensified his attention, briefly licking so that his tongue pressed up inside her, while her clit rubbed against the nose of his mask, leaving it slick.

The phallic vine inside him pushed deeper, pulling back enough to stimulate him, but also to open him up more. Lost between Ivy’s labia, he briefly had a moment of sympathy for some women who had managed to ride him with little prior experience, realizing just what it took to happily endure being filled up that way. With one especially firm thrust, the vine reached his prostate, and Batman found his vision briefly going white even with the red bush directly in front of his eyes. He moaned into Ivy’s folds, which got a fairly positive reaction from her as well, albeit barely noticed in the intense pleasure of being stimulated so deeply. He felt a small spurt of precum escape as the vines around his cock tightened and stroked at the same moment the one inside him began to caress his prostate.

“It will all—mmmmMMM—be over very soon, Batman,” Ivy declared, grinding her mound into his face and fucking his tongue with her pussy. “Few men have the stamina to resist having their prostate milked.”

It was true, he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Even with Poison Ivy’s moans intensifying—a brief glimpse of her massaging her own breast with a free hand while she continued to direct the vines confirmed how much she was enjoying herself—he couldn’t tell how close she was to an orgasm, while he himself would not last much longer with this kind of attention inside and out. 

The vine began to slide in and out, not pounding but thrusting firmly enough to thump and grind against his prostate and send shocks of pleasure up his already overstimulated member. The vines outside began to tighten around the base of his shaft, while at the same time teasing the flare of the head, and he felt his balls rising up as he came closer and closer.

The very moment his cock exploded with a burst of seed, an explosion of a different sort blocked out all visibility, a flashbang going off. The vines suddenly retracted, and he felt several pairs of hands freeing him from his restraints and lifting his body, even as his hips spasmed and several more spurts of cum rushed out into the open air. His otherwise trained body was weakened by the orgasm as well as the unfamiliar girth of the vine, together with its sudden absence. It was all he could do to move his body in a way that made it easier to carry him.

Cassandra set him down in the passenger seat of the Batmobile, settling in behind him to check his vitals while Dick landed in the driver’s seat.

“Easy Bruce, we’ve got you,” assured Batman’s first sidekick, taking command of the situation as Bruce had always expected he would.

“Ivy,” he mumbled, still dazed from the orgasm. 

“Is being taken care of,” Dick said, not hesitating at all as he drove the Batmobile back to the cave as speedily as possible. “Babs— _Oracle_ picked up on your alert, and sent in the Birds.”

Dick grinned, taking his eyes off the road for an instant to nod at his mentor.

“We’re just the cleanup crew.”

They rode for a time in silence, Cass now comfortably sure that Batman was in no danger, and Dick focusing on avoiding traffic and other hazards in the road.

“...Dick, Cassandra,” he said at last, reaching up to slip off his cowl and switching to his ‘Bruce Wayne’ voice. “I’ll rest for four hours. Then, I want everyone at the Batcave. We need to change tactics.”


End file.
